


Ballet Slippers and Apple Orchards

by Snap_crackle_spock



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anorexia, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, M/M, bet y'all didn't see that one coming, connor is a dancer, evan is anxious, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snap_crackle_spock/pseuds/Snap_crackle_spock
Summary: Evan couldn’t move. He was trying. He was trying he was tryinghewastryinghewastryinghewastrying but he couldn’t. Move. Instead, he stood there, rooted in place like one of his damn trees, and staring blankly at this beautiful guy, who had just done what Evan silently declared physically impossible, and maybe knew Evan from somewhere.“Get your shoes off the damn marley.” Was all that this beautiful boy said to him before shoving past into the hallway, unscrewing his water bottle and after a moment Evan heard the faint trickle of the water fountain he’d passed on his way in.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Dear Evan Hansen Ballet!AU because frick you i do what i want

The first time Evan goes to the ballet class, he almost shits his pants. At least, that’s what it felt like. It hadn’t been his idea -these sort of things never were- but his therapist had told his mom that he needed a ‘creative outlet to express emotions in a healthy way’ and this is what had been decided for him.  _ Why, _ he’d yet to fully wrap his head around.

_ This is weird, _ he thought to himself as he waved goodbye to his mom who’d taken her 20-minute break to drop him off at the little hole-in-the-wall dance studio that they passed twice before actually finding.  _ It’s  _ weird _ to be with a group of people in a cramped room and just  _ move. _ That’s not what normal people do; why was he forced to do this? _

These thoughts plagued him as he pulled open the door, looking around to see a quaint waiting area with a comfortable looking couch, a desk with a teenager behind it, and a slew of uncomfortable looking plastic chairs. Sitting in the room was a group of moms, all chattering quietly to each other. One or two dads sat in the cluster, though they looked a bit uncomfortable. 

What he didn’t see, though, was a single guy  _ his age, _ and that was a bad sign because he’d definitely remembered his mother telling him she’d signed him up for a teen boy’s ballet 1, and thinking of being the only person in the class was absolutely nerve wracking. He was about to turn around and leave, probably just walking home to avoid bothering his mom, when a kind voice came from his left. 

“Boys ballet one, right?” He turned to see the girl sitting behind the desk smiling up at him, her glasses perched gently on her nose and dreads tied into a bun sitting on top of her head. His first thought was that she was one of the dancers here. 

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, because he didn’t exactly plan on  _ talking _ tonight, he was hoping this was going to be one of those things where he could get by with a few nods and maybe a nervous smile if the situation called for it. 

“Great,” the girl beamed up at him and he swore he knew her from somewhere, “just sign in on that clipboard and you can head into room 4, which is down that hall,” she pointed to a narrow hall on her left, “the class before you is just about wrapping up, so you can go in as long as you stay along the edge and out of the way. Your instructor will be with y’all in a moment.” 

Evan nodded as he signed his name on the clipboard. He could do that. Staying on the sides and out of the way? Psh, he’s been doing that his whole life. It’s pretty safe to assume that he’s quite the expert on it by this point. 

The doors in the hall went from numbers 1 to 6, and none of them seemed like they belonged. One of them was completely clear and revealed a group of girls who looked a bit older than Evan bending in ways he didn’t think could be possible, and the one across from it wasn’t a door, but a whole bunch of strings of beads hanging from the doorframe in rainbow hues, and beyond it was a co-ed group of young kids bouncing to the beat of some heavy rap and watching one of them do the worm in the middle of the room. From room three, though he couldn’t see through the sky blue door, he heard the constant sound of metal on wood; and maybe there was singing coming from either room five or six?

But none of those were the object of his attention. Instead, he found himself in front of door number four, a plain white wooden slab that looked like it could’ve been the front door to a house instead. There was the faint sound of an orchestra playing beyond it, and if Evan  _ really _ listened he could hear the faint sound of thuds. 

_ One class, _ he thought to himself as he looked back at the desk and the waiting room and the door to the outside world.  _ One class is all your mom asked for. Then you can never  _ ever _ come back again. _ And with a deep breath, he opened the door to slip in. 

He doesn’t know what he expected, but this definitely wasn’t it. 

Every interior wall was naked brick, except for the front one. That one was painted a soft lilac and had nearly floor to ceiling mirrors along the wall. The fluorescent lighting cast a weird coloring across the room, which wasn’t helped by the strange plastic-y material that was the lightest gray he’d ever seen. 

That wasn’t the weird part, though.

No, the strangest thing was right there, smack in the center of the room, was were two dancers, a girl and a guy. The girl wore what Evan thinks is the skimpiest outfit he’d ever seen (he didn’t think leotards went that high over the hips! Even with the pink tights it was scandalous.) and her hair is somehow all perfectly flattened into a bun on the top of her head, not a single fly away. The guy next to her is slightly less professional looking, with his black sweat pants and  _ tight _ white t-shirt. His hair was in a bun, too, though his was at the base of his head, and it looked more like he had hastily shoved it into a bun, with stray hairs doing their own dance around his head as they moved. 

And  _ god, _ did they move. Their feet were going faster than Evan could even keep track of and their legs were extending and they were moving in perfect unison but then they weren’t because the girl was spinning around and around and around on the toe of her foot which couldn’t have been comfortable and Evan was scared he’d have to do that and then suddenly the guy was bolting across the stage but not running because it was a lot prettier than that and he was flying through the air like gravity had suddenly turned off for him and and and-

And then the music was over. A man that Evan hadn’t noticed leaning on the mirrors clapped once, twice, and then said in a heavily accented voice, “Good. See you next week.” And they were done.

Evan couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching the two dancers as they let the facade of the piece wash away from them, and they separated. The guy -who was  _ tall,  _ Evan realized. Insanely tall- went off to the far corner and grabbed a white hand and a large water bottle before proceeding to dry off his face. Evan thinks the girl went over to talk to whom he assumes was her instructor, but he did abso-fricking-lutely not give a single shit because Mystery Ballet Man was taking his hair out of its bun and it was wild and seemingly untamable and  _ how did he even wrangle it into a bun in the first place? _ The sun was setting -it was a night class that, thankfully, got out the same time as his mom’s shift- and it shone through the windows in the top corner of the studio, which seemed to all be pointed to this boy. This boy whose hair seemed to light up like a golden halo. This boy who  _ must’ve _ intentionally walked into the light to make it dramatic because this sort of thing didn’t just  _ happen. _

Evan just watched the boy bend down again (and didn’t let his mind linger on where his eyes went when the boy did) and this time he picked up a phone that, even from here, Evan could see was cracked in a million and one places. This time he turned towards Evan, his head still buried in the phone, and Evan could swear there was something about him, something that he recognizes but couldn’t quite place; like a face he’d seen in a dream but couldn’t fully remember. 

Then he looked up from his phone.

Evan couldn’t move. He was trying. He was trying he was tryinghewastryinghewastryinghewastrying but he  _ couldn’t. Move. _ Instead, he stood there, rooted in place like one of his damn trees, and staring blankly at this beautiful guy, who had just done what Evan silently declared physically impossible, and maybe knew Evan from somewhere.

“Get your shoes off the damn marley.” Was all that this beautiful boy said to him before shoving past into the hallway, unscrewing his water bottle and after a moment Evan heard the faint trickle of the water fountain he’d passed on his way in. Evan looked down at his sneakers. They were on the gray plastic-y thing that covered the floor, and Evan scrambled to take his shoes off and hold them in his hand. 

Once he’d been snapped from his daze, he surveyed the room again, this time his eyes landed on a small cluster of boys sitting in the back corner, some stretching, some on their phones, some chatting, and -thankfully- all looking old enough to be in high school; there went  _ his _ fears of being the oldest one there by three grades. 

“Don’t mind him,” a lithe voice came from behind Evan as he stuttered to the ground, pulling out his phone even though he didn’t have anything to actually  _ do _ on it because he might as well  _ look _ busy, right? He looked up, seeing the beautiful ballerina, now with baggy athletic shorts on her hips and a gray cardigan dangling from her shoulders. Evan was shocked by her beauty, and then again at how  _ old  _ she looked. Not old like the way his mom was old but old in that timeless way that celebrities were, where they seemed wiser after their time. And that was strange, because the boy she’d just been dancing with couldn’t have been more than a year older than Evan himself.

He could’ve replied to the woman with a ‘what was that’ or even a ‘hi, I’m Evan.’ But no. No, Evan was Evan and Evan’s brain liked to screw him over so he just settled for a safe ‘hmm’ and raised his eyebrows.

“Connor,” she nodded her head to the hall, where the water fountain noises had stopped but there wasn’t any sign of the boy, “don’t mind him. He can be quite… Abrasive.” Without even giving Evan time to think about what she’d just said, much less form a response mentally or verbally, she continued on her way out, just as the boy, Connor, came back in.

And then it clicked for Evan, where he knew him from.  _ Connor Murphy, _ as in Crazy Connor, as in the kid who threw a printer at his second-grade teacher because he couldn’t be line leader, as in the guy whose sister Evan had totally had a thing for last year.

The Connor Murphy who Jared said looked like a school shooter in the making.

Yeah.  _ That _ Connor Murphy.

But… No. Because….. No.  _ This _ Connor was doing  _ ballet _ and was  _ good _ and looked kind and graceful and everything that the school’s gossip mill had told him Connor  _ wasn’t. _ The Connor Murphy from school only wore black and smoked weed under the bleachers during gym and didn’t even bother showing up half the time. There was no way that  _ this _ Connor was the same person because, and Evan will swear on this in his grave, he thought he saw the faintest upturn of Connor’s lips as he continued looking at his phone. 

His hair was different again. Instead of the bun at the nape of his neck and instead of the wild lion’s mane of hair he’d pulled the front half into a bun, right where the girl’s had been while the rest of his hair flowed freely. 

“Okay,” Connor said, taking the same position Evan had seen the man watching him and the woman dance a minute ago, “let’s start with barre.”

 

 

Above all else, Evan didn’t think he’d be this sore after a one-hour ballet lesson. But yet, here he was, aching everywhere as the class was being dismissed. It’s not like they even did all that much in the first place, they just put their feet in different positions and learned the different between flexing and pointing. Still, Evan couldn’t wait to get into his bed. 

Not that any of that matters, though, because Evan was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that  _ Connor freaking Murphy _ was teaching his ballet class. Evan had only seen him around school in passing, and then every other day as he sat in the back corner of their English class, listening to music and flipping the teacher off when she tells him to take out his headphones. Or sleeping. He did a lot of that in school.

But here? Here he seemed absolutely  _ awake.  _ Maybe less so than when he was dancing with that woman -then he seemed more than awake, he’d seemed alive- but he was engaged, which was more than Evan had ever seen from him before. 

Thoughts of Connor Murphy and the fact that he taught ballet tumbled around in Evan’s mind as he pulled on his shoes and before he knew it, he was the last one in the room. The last one besides Connor. 

“Hansen,” the gruff voice that already seemed angrier than when he was trying to explain the difference between third and fifth position called, “hold back for a minute.”

Evan wasn’t sure what to expect, and to be honest he was a little bit afraid he was about to be murdered. But he hung back because he was definitely not the type of person to deny anyone anything, especially not Connor Murphy of all people. So he hung back, casting one longing look to the door before turning to face his classmate.

“How did you find out about this?” He sneered, and Evan averted his eyes instead to the top of Connor’s forehead, where the hair that was already falling out of his small bun was sticking to the sweat-coated skin.

Evan just managed to force out a ‘hmm’.

“I said,” Connor said, this time stepping forward which cause Evan to take two steps back, “how did you find out about this place? Who told you?” There was a small flame in his eyes, and this was the Connor that Evan knew from school. The one that was deathly still until something pissed him off and he exploded. “Was it Zoe? Or Alana? Did either of them tell you about this place?” He was almost shouting now, and Evan just kept backing up until he hit the wall, already trying not to think about how hard his hands were shaking. 

“N-n-no. No!” He stuttered, cursing the way the words tumbled out of his mouth, “Nobody  _ t-told _ me about this place except my, my mom! She just, I mean my therapist told her I guess, but she just- I don’t know! She wants me to, to engage in something?” He hated the way it came out like a question. He hated the way he caught himself backtracking and going on tangents. He hated the way that his hands were flailing around his face as if he could pull the words out of the air and string them together into sentences that he could never get out with himself.

Connor held his gaze for one, two, three more counts before huffing and rolling his obscenely gray-blue eyes and glaring off to something only he could see beyond Evan’s head. “Whatever. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, though…” He just looked Evan up and down once before shaking his head like Evan wasn’t even worth finishing the sentence. “G’night, Hansen.” And just like that he brushed past him and disappeared into the hall.

Evan counted silently to 30 before deciding he was okay enough to go out there. Hopefully, by then Connor would be out of the building.

Nope. 

False.

Wrong.

Incorrect.

Instead, he was leaning on the desk, chatting with the girl working there as if he and Evan’s entire exchange hadn’t just happened.

“-anks again for giving me a ride,” the girl was saying, shuffling papers around on the desk before putting them into one of the folders in her big binder. 

“It’s fine, Alana.” Connor shrugged, swiping through his phone and seemingly not even paying attention. “I owed Zoe one for covering for me last night.” 

Right, Alana Beck. As in student counsel Alana Beck, president of too many clubs to count, and current girlfriend of Zoe Murphy.  _ Did everyone at their school work there? _ Evan thought as he brushed past the two of them and out the door, where his mother was waiting in their mini-van by the curb.

“How was it, honey!” Heidi Hansen grinned, still in her uniform. “Thinking about going back again next week?”

“Maybe,” Evan mumbled as he fastened his seat belt, turning towards the window just to see Connor and Alana walk out, the former twirling his car keys around a raised middle finger with chipped black nail polish.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wasn’t at school the next day, which wasn’t something Evan had realized he’d been praying for. It wasn’t until he’d settled into his English class and looked back nervously to see that Connor wasn’t already asleep on his desk -or even at his desk for that matter- did he release a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. As every minute ticked by, Evan's eyes continued to flick to the door, waiting for Connor Murphy to barge in, late as usual, and proceed to beat the shit out of him.  
> \--  
> He knew that she used weed whenever feet felt particularly sore, which was probably often considering she was a dancer. And he knew that in the back of his mind his parents were screaming in agony.
> 
> But also, fuck them.
> 
> So he’d gotten high, and he’d never been more grateful for something in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dual perspective because 1) Connor Murphy is my son and deserves love and 2) there are these //very specific// things I want to do with his character that requires POV set-up
> 
> Also frick you, I do what I want
> 
> Also, head the updated tags! I'm starting a character arc that involves heavy discussion and signs of anorexia and if this in anyway makes you uncomfortable or has the potential to trigger you, please do not read any farther because it will be appearing in many more chapters following this one.

Connor wasn’t at school the next day, which wasn’t something Evan had realized he’d been praying for. It wasn’t until he’d settled into his English class and looked back nervously to see that Connor wasn’t already asleep on his desk -or even at his desk for that matter- did he release a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. As every minute ticked by, Evan's eyes continued to flick to the door, waiting for Connor Murphy to barge in, late as usual, and proceed to beat the shit out of him.

Evan didn’t even know why he was so sure Connor was going to show up. It’s not like the boy came to school as often as he could. There’d been weeks at a time where Evan hadn’t seen him walking through the halls, scaring people out of his way as he went. And, even when he was at school, more often than not he was too aloof to care, either high or running on seemingly -12 hours of sleep.

Still, no matter how skittish Evan felt the whole day, he was almost disappointed in the fact that Connor had refused to show up. In a selfish way, Evan almost felt like he deserved an answer, or at least an acknowledgment. He was suddenly in on what had the potential to be the juiciest piece of gossip in the school since Jared had figured out a way to play the pacer speech over the intercom a few months ago. Which was kind of ridiculous; Evan didn’t even participate in gossip. He didn’t have anyone to do it with. 

Then he remembered Connor’s face the other night, and suddenly he was thinking  _ okay, yeah. Maybe it’s better that he isn’t at school. Just… Just until he’s calmed down and  _ doesn’t _ seem like he’s ready to murder me on sight. _

“Evan!” A voice called to him from the hallway as he made his way outside for lunch. He turned around to see who was calling for him because, no, that didn’t happen. Most people didn’t even know his name, let alone bothered to say hi in the hallway. Let alone call after him in an attempt to hold a conversation. 

And there was Alana, jogging up to him with her over-stuffed backpack thumping against her with every step and kind of engulfing her. The brief image of her as a turtle, hiding in her blue and purple nylon shell danced around his head for a brief moment, before he shook it out of his head to focus on her.

Alana was one of those people that everybody knew of, but nobody really knew. Well, nobody but Zoe Murphy, who’d started dating her somewhere between sophomore and junior year. And Evan would’ve been sad about that, except for the fact that whenever he saw them together, usually holding hands, and smiling up at each other dopily. How Alana managed to balance a relationship, as well as being president of three clubs, on student council, and getting some of the top grades in their class was beyond Evan. He could barely order a pizza. Where did she find the time in just 24 hours a day? Add that to this secret job at the dance studio, and Evan was getting overwhelmed just thinking about it.

“I’m Alana, we have AP Bio together,” She said proudly, because she  _ should _ be proud to be taking that course. It was a senior class. She was a junior. They’d let her in because she was taking  _ her _ grade’s science online outside of school. Evan had tried doing that before, online classes. But they’d stressed him out more than normal classrooms because there he had to do weekly public forums with everyone else taking the class online, which meant that he’d spent so long trying to type the best answer that they’d already covered three other questions by the time he sent his answer and he’d received a D on the assignment. In the end, he decided that being in a classroom where he only had to write down his answers where only his teacher could see them was a lot less difficult. 

“I-I remember,” he nodded vigorously, then stopped because normal people didn’t nod that much for something this simple. Then he panicked because,  _ oh no, _ did he stop nodding too abruptly? What if Alana saw this and thought that he didn’t even have control of his own body, so why should she bother even talking to him?

She smiled up at him, which Evan found a bit too difficult to read, and then went on. “Yeah, I actually had something to ask of you. I know that apparently Connor confronted you the other night about the whole ballet thing,” and was Evan crazy or did it seem that her voice dropped in volume towards the end of that sentence? “Anyway, seeing as he’s one of my closest acquaintances, I know that he tends to be a bit… Confrontational. But Zoe asked me if you wouldn’t mind keeping the whole thing on the down low.” It didn’t seem like a question, even if it should’ve been. “I know you have no reason to follow this request, but it would mean a lot to Zoe and me, as well as Connor. He’d never say it, but it really does mean a lot to him.”

Evan didn’t think too hard about why Alana Beck of all people seemingly knew so much about Connor. Sure, she was dating his little sister, and they apparently worked together, but they also seemed like they were polar opposites. Then again, Evan thought back to Connor leaning on her desk as they chatted casually, and he thought  _ okay, maybe there’s more to the story than I thought. _

“Y-Yeah,” Evan nodded, making sure that it was slow and measured this time, because what else was he supposed to do? It’s not like he was ever really going to tell anyone in the first place, except maybe Jared. 

“Oh, I’m so glad that you said that,” Alana beamed with teeth that seemed so straight and bright and perfect Evan briefly wondered if they were actually real, “Because Zoe asked me to invite you over for dinner and if you’d said no that would've been weird.”

“Dinner?” Evan asked, brows furrowing. Why was he being invited to dinner at the Murphy’s?!? He’d never even had a conversation with one of them before his class the other night. 

“Yeah,” Alana nodded, “After school today, if you can. I can drive you there and then to your house afterward, if you need a ride. And don’t worry, it’s nothing fancy at all. Plus, Zoe, Connor, and I are all going to be there. It’s not like you’re going to be left alone with their parents.” How was Evan supposed to tell her that he  _ preferred _ talking to the adults, even when he was a little kid? They all asked the same questions -school, love life, anything interesting?- and then went back to minding their own business. And they were nicer, too. Kids his age were  _ mean. _ How was Evan supposed to let her know that he’d much rather only dine with Mr. and Mrs. Murphy? Or, even better, with none of them at all.

But he found himself agreeing, and then mentally yelling at himself for it as Alana told her where to meet him after school and turned cheerfully away.

 

 

Connor looked at himself in the mirror. 

His room was visible in the reflection, just past him. The bed was unmade, and there were two books tossed haphazardly on it. Scattered around the ground was clothing, chords to various things, and even a loose pair of ballet slippers with too many holes to be that useful anymore.

And there, right on his bedside table, was his bong. 

In his defense, it was  _ not _ his fault that he’d gotten into marijuana. If anyone, it was Sonya. She was the one who’d seen him a year and a half ago because his left arabesque was  _ not _ cutting it. His chest was dipping too much and his leg shook when he raised it for absolutely no reason and he had  _ needed _ that move to be perfect and it  _ wasn’t.  _

So, yeah, he’d punched the wall. And it didn’t do anything because it was brick and afterward Connor had wondered if they’d made the walls like that for the sole purpose of knowing that dancers were definitely going to be punching then for years to come. He’d punched the wall until he’d forgotten why he was punching it because all he could see was red and brick and anger.

Then Sonya came in, her feet so light on the marley that he didn’t even realize she was there until she took his arm in her steely grip as he wound up for round 15 with the bricks. She was a good dancer. Actually, fuck that, she was a  _ great _ dancer. Her calypsos somehow made Connor hold his breath every time because she just seemed to slow time and her floor work seemed to just  _ melt _ into the ground. 

She was a contemporary dancer, which usually Connor was ready to roll his eyes at because contemporary seemed like such a cop out when ballerinas worked a million times harder. But Sonya? Sonya was the only person who’d ever swayed his opinion on that sort of thing. When she moved, the only word that Connor could think was  _ art. _

That being said, she was also one of his closest friends at the studio at the time, and when she’d brought him to her car to calm down and get high, he hadn’t argued a bit. He knew that she used weed whenever feet felt particularly sore, which was probably often considering she was a dancer. And he knew that in the back of his mind his parents were screaming in agony.

But also, fuck them. 

So he’d gotten high, and he’d never been more grateful for something in his life. Somehow all of his worries slipped away from him, and he felt more liberated than he’d ever felt in his life, and he and Sonya just sat there for a few hours, laughing at the dumbest things and by the end Connor didn’t even understand why he’d been so worried about his leg not getting high enough.

Of course, that didn’t last into the next day, which led to him asking Sonya who her dealer was, and then Connor getting in touch with him, and then all of a sudden he was a regular and smoking at least one joint a week. 

He hadn’t used the bong in a while, and usually he just left it in his car and took it to the old apple orchard when he didn’t have a joint and wanted to get away. But both of his parents were gone for the day, his dad at work and his mom taking her yoga students on some retreat that wouldn’t get back until later that night so he figured,  _ hell, why not? _

So he was at home instead of school, letting his homemade gravity bong do it’s thing, inspecting himself in the mirror. He’d long-since abandoned his shirt in favor of being able to see every line and curve of his torso. He was long; when he was a kid his parents used to call him beanpole. But on top of that, there was a quiet sense of strength to him from lifting girl after girl night after night. It was that strength that kept kids away from him in the halls, and he loved that. He loved that freshman parted for him like the red sea when he walked down the hall. 

It wasn’t good enough, though. His leaps still weren’t high enough, and just thinking about those thousands of dollars worth of stage lights that were going to be shining down on him at his next performance was intoxicating, yes, but it also drove him silly with worry because with that much light on him there were going to be shadows under  _ everything. _ Every little ridge and bump and slope was going to be seen with nowhere to hide and he couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t handle the scrutiny of people based on what he body looked like when they should’ve been paying attention to how it moved. 

He turned sideways, glaring at the way his stomach slid outward the farther down got as if his scrutiny would somehow change it. Like if he stared at it long enough it would magically disappear. 

It didn’t.

Instead, he was stuck, standing there, looking at himself in the mirror with painful thoughts ringing in his head like bells. 

_ Buzz. _

He turned lazily his bed, where his phone had been casually tossed when he’d started on the bong. He thinks it had been playing music at some point? Maybe the playlist had ended? Maybe it’d never been playing in the first case.

**Zoe: evan hansen is coming over for dinner tonight**

**Zoe: play nice or im telling mom and dad you skipped school**

**Zoe: and take a shower before we get there !!! i can’t talk my way out of u smelling like weed.**

**Connor: Why?**

**Zoe: Bc you were a dick to him**

**Zoe: also you need friends**

**Connor: read 1:14 PM**

Connor fought the way his stomach twisted because it was just Evan Hansen, who gave a shit? But also if he was really going to be taking his beginners ballet class, they might as well make nice. It would be a lot easier for Connor to teach the class if he didn’t want to punch his students.

But also… 

He looked back at the bong, trying to find justification for not doing what he’d been asked. It was almost empty. And, after all, weed wasn’t exactly cheap. Might as well just let it run out by itself than waste a perfectly good high. He could always take his shower later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk abt Connor and how this fandom sometimes does him wrong.
> 
> He's not a good guy. Don't get me wrong, one of the major over-arching themes in the show is that everyone has the potential to be both good and bad and Connor is a perfect example of what serious mental illnesses that (as far as we can tell in the show??) go untreated as well as drug addictions can do to people. Please note that I have not experienced either, so I by no means speak for either of those communities. These are just my own personal opinions.
> 
> That being said, I'm very excited for the road I've begun with this chapter. Anorexia, especially when it stems from performers and their need to 'look good' on stage hits very close to home with me. I think that it (and just anorexia in general) is such an important topic that needs to be discussed more and unfortunately isn't. We will //definitely// be delving further into this story-line, so -as I said in the beginning- if this theme is in any way a trigger for you please put yourself first and do not read further. Your health is far more important than what happens in my story.
> 
> -
> 
> On a much lighter topic: you guys have all been so welcoming?! This is my first DEH fic and I'm so glad that it's being so kindly received by the fandom. I can only hope for the same level of support, it's been sending my stomach tumbling all day! I'm always ready to reply to comments, especially those with questions about my work!
> 
> That being said: I know a lot of people have been confused on this so I thought I'd clarify. Zoe does NOT do dance, nor did I ever intend her to. She's still in Jazz Band, and trust me, I have my plans for her. The reason I don't think she would is partially 1) because she just isn't terribly coordinated and 2) the one time her parents almost convinced her to start taking lessons Connor threw a fit, saying that he'd rather be caught dead than with his baby sister tagging along to a lesson.
> 
> As always: I can't wait to see y'all next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Murphy's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, my school performed at the Cappies (basically Tony's for local theatre) at the Kennedy Center. (We won five awards, including best musical, best song, and best supporting actor). 
> 
> That being said, congrats to all of the DEH cast and crew members for their wonderful wins at the Tony's!!!!

Evan didn’t know why he was at the Murphy’s house for dinner. He was 97% sure that the Murphy’s didn’t know why he was there, either. This, of course, led to a rather awkward dinner where the only one carrying on like everything was normal was Zoe. 

He hadn’t known how to handle it when she’d come up to him during lunch earlier that day, declaring that he was coming to dinner at her place.

Well.

Okay.

No.

He was probably exaggerating that point. Maybe by a lot. Evan tended to do that a lot. Kind of… Take things, words or actions, and just run with them. Not even run, triathlon with them. Something as little as someone not saying hi to him one morning when they usually did and suddenly Evan was going through everything they’d ever said to him because  _ clearly _ they hated him and had totally just been tolerating ever since they met him and he needed to switch schools and change his name and maybe get plastic surgery.

The worst part was that Evan knew that he did this. He knew that he took things and turned them into things they weren’t. And he knew that they were more likely than not inaccurate. But then his brain would just creep in and say  _ mhmm, interesting. But have you ever considered that they actually do hate you?  _ Which just led Evan into an infinite loop of do-they-or-don’t-they.

So yeah, maybe take these next few paragraphs with a grain of salt.

But Zoe had come up to him during lunch and mentioned that she knew about the interaction between him and Connor at the studio. Which, cool. Great. For something Evan was pretty sure the boy had threatened to murder him over if it ever got out a lot of people seemed to know. But she apologized to him for her brother’s actions. 

And Evan said thanks because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But then… Zoe kept talking. And the year before Evan would’ve been a complete disaster because  _ since when did Zoe Murphy talk to him? _ But now he was just confused. But he nodded to whatever she said that needed a nod, and when it was appropriate he let out a small laugh. Sometimes it even came out without him thinking about it. But then she said he should come to dinner at her place. 

Now, in case you haven’t noticed, Evan kind of sucked in social situations. 

So she kept talking about how it would be a good way for them to make it up to him, and how she thought he was a good person and it wasn’t fair that her brother was being an ass to him. And she talked so fast with so many ideas that Evan didn’t have time to have a thought for himself, let alone time to get it out of his mouth. So instead he just watched his life flash before his eyes because he was going to have dinner at the Murphy house and he was probably going to get murdered at some point during the main course. 

The Murphy house was very much the opposite of what Evan had expected. Well, he didn’t exactly know what he expected, but this definitely wasn’t it. The first thing he noticed was that the Murphy’s were rich. Like, abundantly rich. And that kind of made Evan question why Zoe had a Toyota instead of, like, a Porsche or something. And then there was the fact that Connor drove a truck, which seemed just very un-Connor to Evan. Not that he had much to base that on, but the point still stood. 

When Evan had come into the house, leaving his shoes at the door because he’d rather die than leave dirt on the obscenely soft-looking white carpet, he had to pause for a moment to take everything in. He and his mom lived in a small, one-floor house that had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. Needless to say, it was not that big. So coming into the Murphy house and seeing what seemed like a labyrinth of rooms from the first glimpse was a bit nerve-wracking. 

In one room, which had all white furniture in a way that made it look like the room belonged under snow, was a large grand-piano, a guitar on a stand, a shelf of what looked to be binders, and a violin case. As Zoe pointed it out she’d called it the Music Room, which made no sense to Evan, because why would anyone’s parents want to hear their kid practicing music for hours every day? Or maybe that was a normal thing and Evan just didn’t know about it because he didn’t play an instrument. 

Between the time he’d gotten there and the dinner actually started, Evan was somewhat forced to sit in the living room -which had a tv that was possibly bigger than his bed- and complete the absolute bane of his existence. Small talk. 

I mean, who thought it was a good idea to have everyone talk about the same three boring subjects at every social gathering? 

“So, Evan,” Connor’s dad -Evan’s 97% sure that’s Connor’s dad- said as he took a seat on one of the two overstuffed couches while Mrs. Murphy flitted around in the open kitchen, stirring  _ this _ or adding some salt to  _ that, _ “how’s school?”

“F-fine.” Evan forced out, internally screaming with every letter. He hated talking about himself. He hated talking about school. He hated talking. He could feel his fingers already start twitching, yearning to fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

“Good, that’s good.” Mr. Murphy sat back, looking over as Zoe re-entered the living room with a glass of water for her and Evan before taking a seat on the couch next to the older boy. “Do you have any classes with each other?”

“Lunch,” Zoe shrugged, “And I think we had pre-calc together last year, right?”

“Right,” Evan nodded because he couldn’t forget how nice Zoe had looked that first day after spring break when she’d waltzed into Mr. Drait’s class with these bright indigo streaks throughout her hair. 

“You’re a junior?” Mr. Murphy questioned, and Evan hated the way this was starting to feel like an interrogation. 

“Senior,” Evan answered shortly, then realized how that must’ve come across, “I, uh, I have the same English class as Connor.” 

“English,” Mr. Murphy let out a huff of a laugh, “I never understood why they needed an entire class on how to read books.”

Evan let out a short, stiff chuckle that was more of a courtesy than anything and the room fell into a tense silence, with Evan looking at the floor and the two Murphy’s looking anywhere but at each other. 

Evan was almost going to scream with joy when Mrs. Murphy called out that dinner was ready. 

So far, not a great start to the evening. 

Dinner itself was… Unlike any other Evan had eaten. A vegan meatloaf, (he hadn’t thought that was possible), vegetables that Evan couldn’t spell, and pineapple juice. It wasn’t bad, not by a long shot, it was just unusual. He was used to having week-old leftovers or pizza from this poor pizza man that he just sort of threw money at before retreating back into his house. That, or he just went hungry. Usually, it was the latter if take-out was the only option. 

Not only was dinner strangely delicious, it was strangely silent as well. Each Murphy seemed absorbed in their own world. Connor had come down when Mrs. Murphy had called, his hair wet and tied up in a knot at the top of his head and he came down in sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was kind of the sexiest thing Evan had ever seen in his life. 

Not that Evan found Connor sexy.

That would be…That was weird. 

It was more the way that Evan thought that, like, Scarlett Johansson and Zac Efron were hot. Very pretty, but also very unapproachable. 

Evan couldn’t believe he’d just compared Connor to Scarlett Johansson. 

_ Anyway. _

Connor had come and sat at the table, dropping a bag he’d carried down the stairs with him by the door before thumping into a chair and putting his book on top of the table. Zoe wasn’t all that better. She tried to make conversation, and she  _ did  _ listen whenever Evan nervously answered a question, but her phone was constantly buzzing and she was constantly answering it. Mr. Murphy had his newspaper in his lap, not bothering to hide the flipping of pages. 

Mrs. Murphy was the only one not focused on something else. She asked all the same questions her husband had and then asked what exactly had happened between him and Connor. The other boy looked up at that.

“I’m teaching a class he’s in,” Connor rushed out before Evan h ad a chance to breathe. And, really, Evan didn’t want to bring up the fact that their son  _ also _ threatened him very vaguely in the case that Evan told people about it. Less talking for him.

“The Sunday ones?” Mrs. Murphy asked, furrowing her brows.

“That’s the one for girls,” Connor shrugged, refocusing on his book, “I’m talking about the Tuesday ones.”

“I was going to say,” Mrs. Murphy laughed at the joke that only she really found funny. “Well, I’m sure it’s nice to have a friendly face in one of your classes.”

_ I wouldn’t exactly say  _ friendly… Is what Evan  _ would’ve  _ said if he didn’t have the spine of a chicken with a broken spine. 

“I still don’t understand why so many boys are getting into dance,” Mr. Murphy shook his head, and Evan was 89% sure that that comment was meant to just be whispered under his breath, but it sure as heck didn’t come out that way. Evan looked over at the other boy, to find him gritting his teeth and just looking more like the Connor that Evan knew from school than the one that read at the table. 

“Are we really going over this again, dad?” And that. That  _ look _ that was exchanged between the two Murphy men gave Evan a  _ very strong _ impression that this was definitely a touchy subject that had been rehashed a million times and still wound up in the spot. There was a tense moment in the room where nobody spoke and everyone was either looking at Connor or Mr. Murphy, waiting to see who was going to break first and, from the looks of it, both were the type to wait. 

Instead, Mrs. Murphy jumped back in with a polite, “I think we’ll put a pin in this conversation and save it for another time.” 

Connor just let out a huff and went back to reading, though it looked to Evan more like he was having an internal conversation while a book just happened to be in front of his face. 

The room fell back into a quiet, just the way it had been before, with nobody talking but Mrs. Murphy and occasionally Evan, if he had a question to answer. Mostly, though, he just watched Connor. Not in a creepy way, that would be weird, but just out of genuine curiosity. He was still… Connor. Still angry and rigid and seemingly ready to fight at literally any given moment. But there was also something… Something unashamed. At school, Connor was the kind to stay in the back, much like Evan himself. He seemed to blend right in with the dark corners of a classroom. But here, in his own home, he did everything as if he were proving a point. Especially with the conversation.

Evan wasn’t the type to piss people off just for the hell of it, but that certainly seemed to be the direction Connor was taking this evening. 

 

Dinner stretched on for forever. Evan still didn’t know why Zoe invited him, Connor still didn’t seem like he was going to apologize, and the Murphy’s in general still absolutely terrified Evan. But… it was also kind of nice. Evan couldn't remember the last time that he'd had a sit-down dinner with his mother, let alone with both parents. And, from the general way this meal was being treated, it didn't seem like this was a rare occurrence. 

So yeah, maybe the company wasn’t exactly the best. And maybe Evan was too nervous to even attempt to start conversations because he was scared he’d fuck up mid-sentence and suddenly all of the Murphy’s would hate him. But, you know, still. It was company. And some awkward company was probably healthier than countless nights spent alone with your thoughts and maybe some take-out if you were starving. 

Eventually, Mrs. Murphy sort of gave up trying to carry out a conversation because all Evan would do was either get out a one-word statement or ramble until someone cut him off and in retrospect, there were probably better ways to handle talking to this family. So, after about an hour and a half, she announced that she would start the dishes and then when Evan had tried to offer his help she’d insisted that it was fine and she found it relaxing anyway. And then when he’d tried again she’d told him a bit more forcefully that she really was okay with doing them herself and that he was a guest so he shouldn’t have to. It was probably for the best, Evan was rather likely to drop one of the plates due to his obscenely sweaty hands. 

Right when Mrs. Murphy had taken Evan and Zoe’s glasses was when things truly started to descend into shit. 

“I’m going,” Connor announced, finally shutting his book and standing up. Before he even took three steps, Mr. Murphy was already standing. 

“Where? You don’t have anything for another three hours,” Evan was sure the fact that Mr. Murphy knew his son’s schedule would’ve been a great thing, except for the fact that he said it with such an accusatory voice that it sort of sounded like he suspected that Connor was going somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be going. 

“I told Lana I’d give her a ride to the studio. Her shift starts at seven tonight and her mom’s using their car.” Connor didn’t bat an eyelash at his father’s words, reaching the stairs and picking his bag up, the unzipped tipping open just enough for Evan to see the same water bottle he’d been using when Evan had first seen him dancing. 

Mr. and Mrs. Murphy shared a quick look before Mr. Murphy just gave a curt nod and Connor took that as his cue to leave. 

“Wait!” His mom called right as he reached the door, giving Evan a quick look, “Evan, dear, did you drive here?” 

“Oh, um, no? No, I don’t drive. I mean, I have my license and everything so I guess I  _ could  _ drive if I had to. But, uh, my family only has the one car, and my mom uses it for work. And, I mean, even if we did have an extra one I’m not exactly the best under pressure, so driving can be kind of a hassle. But my mom had an earlier shift tonight so she should be on her way back soon. Or, I mean, if you all had something you had planned I could walk. I mean, we’re probably not very far. We  _ are  _ in the same school district, after all. And I think we go to the same church? Maybe? I mean my family doesn’t go to church all that often- we aren’t that religious but like we go during Christmas and Easter and stuff and I think I saw you there and-”

“Oh, no no sweetie it’s fine!” Mrs. Murphy thankfully cut him off, and Evan had never been more grateful in his life because he was scared that they’d let him keep talking but he couldn’t  _ stop _ because if he stopped then it would be silent and if there’s one thing he hated more than talking it was fucking silence but Mrs. Murphy was an angel and she was there to rescue him from himself. “Connor can give you a ride home, it’s no problem.” 

Nevermind. Never-fucking-mind. Mrs. Murphy was definitely not there to help and rescue. She was  _ clearly _ willing to ruin his life and willing to throw him under the bus. Maybe this was Connor’s plan all along, and his mom was in on it. Maybe he was going to lure Evan into the car and then drive off the cliff or something. 

_ “Mom,” _ Connor said, giving her a glare that sort of put Evan at ease knowing that they weren’t conspiring to kill him together. Separately, maybe, but not together. However, if Evan did end up in Connor’s car there was still a rather large chance that he wouldn’t actually make it back to his own house alive. 

“It’s really fine, Mrs. Murphy,” Evan hastily replied, “I don’t need a ride. And I’m sure that Connor and Alana have to get going to I wouldn’t want to hold them up.”

“Nonsense,” She said cheerfully, “I’m sure it’d be no trouble. Right, Connor?”

“Actually-”

“Wonderful.” And, without another word on the matter, she gently pushed Evan towards the door and his imminent death. 

 

The car ride was awkward, to say the least. It was silent and tense awkward and just absolutely terrifying. They got about halfway to Alana’s house (Evan had worked on a project with her a million years ago) before Connor took an absolute wrong turn. 

“Her, uh, Alana’s house is-” Evan said, twisting in the seat of the truck a bit.

“I know where her house is,” Connor said shortly, continuing on his merry way. They went on like that for another thirty seconds -though it felt like an eternity- before Connor finally said, “we’re not going to her house.”

“But you told your parents that-”

“I  _ lied. _ It’s called  _ lying. _ It’s a thing that people do when they don’t want their parents to know what they’re actually doing.”

“O-okay,” Evan said, shrinking back into himself because what was he supposed to do with  _ that? _

Another eternity passed.

“So, um, what are you going to do? I mean, what’s so secretive that you lied to your parents?” 

A beat. 

“Actually nevermind, that was a dumb question and really invasive. I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry. I mean, it’s your life and you can do what you want with it and not have to feel obligated to tell me about it. It’s not like I have any right to know what’s going on with you, we don’t even really know each other. Your sister just invited me over because she felt bad for me and-”

“Shut up!” Connor said with a raised voice, his hands tightening on the wheel, “Jesus, do you have an off switch? Really, are you trying to distract the driver?” He rolled his eyes and readjusted his grip and, after yet another infinite amount of time, he added while giving Evan a side eye, “I’m going to smoke some weed with a 20-year-old.”

Evan waited for the punch line. 

There was none. 

“That’s,” He started, and then stopped. He didn’t really know what to say. He’d never smoked weed before. He’d never met anyone who has (unless you count Jared that one time he went to a concert and accidentally gotten high off of the lady next to him’s weed. How or if that actually happened, Evan didn’t really know for sure. But it’s the closest he’d ever gotten to actually experiencing weed. So yeah, not much to base it off of.

And it’s not like it was a secret that Connor smoked pot. It was pretty damn obvious, actually. But it was one thing to silently judge someone and hear gossip; it’s another to hear them unashamedly announce that they did drugs. 

“I mean at least it’s not crack, right?” Was the only thing he could think to say to fill the silence before it got weird again.

Silence.

Silence for a long time, actually.

And then Connor did something very un-Connor, in Evan’s opinion.

He let out two short bursts of laughter. They weren’t pretty, they were actually kind of ugly noises like if a goose and a warthog had a bastard child, that was the sort of noise. But also, it was -in it’s own way- one of the sexiest noises Evan had ever heard. And, then and there, he decided he’d do everything in his power to hear that noise again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this story is saved under 'Ballet Boizzzzzz' in my Google Docs.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so two things.  
> 1) I'm alive! Sorry I gave like no warning that I was going to be out of state with no access to wifi for a few weeks, guess it slipped my mind! Sorry!!!
> 
> 2) Fair warning, this chapter's a lot shorter than the others. But I wanted to get something out there, never mind the crazy amounts of writer's block. I hope you do enjoy the sorry chapter I pass as acceptable, though!

Okay so…

Listen…

He was…

Connor did  _ not _ like Evan fucking Hansen. 

Because, you know, that sort of went against everything Connor had turned himself into. He was supposed to be that weird kid in the back of the classroom,  asking to use the restroom halfway through the period and then never coming back. That was… that was just who he was. That was Connor’s role in the universe and he'd inevitably made peace with that.

And, like, Alana didn't count. She was just… she was Alana. They'd known each other since sixth grade. They'd been friends since eighth, best friends since freshman year. She wasn't some strange, polo shirt wearing, shaky hand waving, absolutely  **goddamn** adorable kid who'd just waltzed into his life. Besides, how could he and Alana  _ not _ be friendly with each other? He saw her  _ everywhere _ . They had three classes together, worked at the same place, and she was dating his sister. It would honestly be too much effort to  _ not _ like her. 

Besides, she wasn't a bad person. She talked a lot -too much, sometimes. And Connor would tell her when those times occurred- but usually, Connor was a good listener. And they both had their own things they'd needed to deal with, but that was fine because in some weird way they’d also helped each other. Sometimes Connor could use someone to just talk and talk (and talk and talk) without really expecting him to respond. And sometimes Alana just needed someone to listen. A lot of times, actually. And sometimes Connor would snap and tell her to just  _ fuck off _ when he couldn’t deal with her, but she got it. Yeah, she was hurt at the moment and he was pretty sure she cried once, but the next day she would always tell him that she knew that it wasn’t because he genuinely disliked her and he’d be thankful because he could never put that into words. 

The point was, they were friends. 

Better than friends.

Besties.

BFFs.

Whatever.

More than that, Alana was his  _ only _ friend. And yeah, that sounded pretty goddamn sad when he phrased it like that, but it was true. So the fact that Evan Motherfucking Hansen waltzes in and weasels his way into Connor’s affection it just… It’s not right. 

But then Connor thought back to the car ride. It was tense and it was awkward and what Evan said -Connor couldn’t even remember it, like  _ honestly- _ wasn’t even that funny, or funny at all for that matter. But the fact that he’d said something, that kind of caught Connor by surprise and so before he knew what he was doing Connor was letting out a laugh that probably sounded like a choking animal. But he was fine with that because 1) it was Evan Hansen who was probably too scared to judge him and 2) Evan had talked and it had made Connor feel better about himself in that split second. Something about the fact that Evan found it okay to relax -just for a moment- and make a dumb joke after an absolutely heinous dinner because in that moment he wasn’t afraid of Connor. 

And maybe that was part of the reason Connor loved Alana so much because she was probably the least intimidating person on the planet (at first glance; Connor had gone Black Friday shopping with her and was completely scared shitless for the whole weekend) and she was still relaxed whenever he was around. Which was saying something, because Alana was  _ never _ relaxed. 

**Lana: Sorry I had to bail on dinner last minute. :(. Parents called an emergency family meeting that I couldn’t get out of. See you tonight! <2**

**Lana: * <3**

**Lana: Sorry!**

That’s fine. Connor hadn’t even known that Alana was supposed to be at dinner; maybe she’d told Zoe and his sister had just forgotten to mention it. No matter, because that just meant that his go-to excuse for leaving the house had worked like a charm, as it usually did. Something about the fact that Connor was being a good samaritan to Zoe’s girlfriend really sat well with his parents. 

So,  _ instead _ of actually going to pick her up -he did need to, eventually. But that eventually was  _ very _ far off. He had time- he took his time driving to the orchard. The one where he’d spent a good deal of his childhood, playing planes with Zoe, and then spitting on all of those memories and making even better ones in his own way. 

 

Evan didn’t exactly know what he was supposed to do. It felt wrong somehow to do his homework because that would add some kind of normalcy to his day that had absolutely none of that shit. But then he thought about the next day, and what his teachers would think if he didn’t do his homework and, well, that was scarier than feeling a bit strange about the already weird day. 

_ The next day. _

What was Evan supposed to do if he saw Zoe in the halls the next day, or even  _ Connor? _ After all, he did feel a bit better about the probability of death by Murphy after their dinner, but then that could just be a non-at-school thing. For all he knew, he could be at his locker to get his books and Connor would pull a knife or something. 

_ Nah. _

_ Well…  _

**_Nahhhhhhhhh._ **

Absolutely not because… Because no! You didn’t just- I mean- One does not just share a laugh with someone on an awkward car ride home and then expect the other to just… To just attempt murder! That was probably against like some rule of basic etiquette. And, like, the law too. 

Evan shook his head, getting the faint trace of betrayal out and decidedly feeling a bit better. He made it through like five minutes before getting a text and throwing away anything close he had to momentum out the window. 

**Zoe M.: Hey! Sry for dinner tonight. I know that it was kinda hectic.**

**Evan H.: It’a really no peblem! Tganks for the invitation, it was a realky nice evening!**

He hit send and watched the three little dots appear then disappear a few times before Zoe eventually just sent a gif of a smiling cat, which Evan laughed at for a moment before settling into himself and realizing,  _ yeah. They probably don’t hate me.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm more than a few pages into my Breakfast Club!AU which I adore, so //obviously// my brain is telling me to abandon everything and go write some Voltron stuff. 
> 
> (Also I fully subscribe to the headcanon that Evan's fingers accidentally hit the wrong keys when he's trying to type on his phone)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car ride with the Murphys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back from the void to write more about the ballet boizzzzzzzzz

Connor was good at English. Simple as that. His dad always gave him suspicious looks whenever the school sent out report cards because every other class were evidence of Connor’s lack of studying and all-around disinterest. 

But not English.

Never English.

Half of it was because he’s already read most of what they did in the class. Half of it was the teacher.

Mrs. DeMarco had called Connor in after class one day, and even after he’d tried to slip out the door anyway, the woman eventually got Connor to begrudgingly stay. She gave him the typical teacher talk, ‘your grades are slipping’, ‘you fall asleep in class’, and ‘you aren’t trying’ and -to be honest- Connor simply tuned most of it out. But then she let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair. 

“Connor, I don’t quite know how to phrase this gently, but I’ve been where you are right now.” When he scoffed at her word choice, she pressed on. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mr. Murphy. I don’t care how empathetic your situation is, I’m still your teacher.”

“I don’t want your empathy,” Connor felt his jaw clench as he turned to leave. Just as he turned the knob of the door, he heard Mrs. DeMarco again.

“You can’t sleep, right?” He stopped. “That’s why you sleep during my class. And it’s not that you’re staying up on purpose, but whenever you try to go to sleep you just can’t get your head to stop talking. Am I wrong?”

Connor didn’t talk about his feelings. That was always more of Zoe’s thing. It was why he hadn’t handled therapy well. It’s why he liked Alana so much, because she liked to fill the air with words for the both of them. But even with all of that, he let his hand drop from the door and turn back again.

“I told you, Mr. Murphy, I’ve been where you are.” She let a small smile on, “I’ve read your file. Bipolar and mild schizo disorder. Skipping classes even though you barely pass them, and three fights in the past semester. And yet you’ve managed to pass with at least a B in all of your English classes since seventh grade.”

Connor readjusted his hat, which technically wasn’t allowed to be on his head during the school day. Alana was probably wondering where he was by now. They had to work on some calculus homework together. Or, rather, Alana had to work on some and since Connor was in her class she asked him to join her even though he knew she would end up doing all the work and he’d simply copy it onto his own paper. 

“You should be in AP Lit.,” she continued, “and yet you’re in my class, coasting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“In my Freshman year I got into more fights than you have in your entire high school career, Mr. Murphy.” That sounded fake to him, she was about 5 foot nothing and brought a mug that said ‘I’d rather be reading’ with her every morning. “My mother wasn’t home enough to notice and my father chalked it up to hormones or something of the sort. It wasn’t until my english teacher gave me this that I begun reevaluating myself.” She picked up a book sitting next to her computer and held it out to him.

_ The Catcher in the Rye.  _

Connor had seen it on her desk before. In fact, looking back on it, it’s always been there. He’d seen her casually flipping through it during tests, but no student had ever thought to ask about it. At least, not that he remembered. 

“What, I’m supposed to read a book and feel better about myself?” He asked. He really should be going. 

“Of course not, Mr. Murphy. But you should read it. Maybe even learn something from it. Lord knows you’re not doing any of that in my class.” He gave her another questioning look and she sighed, “I’m trying to help you, Connor. Do this, and we’ll discuss how it might help boost your grade.”

Connor didn’t remember the whole reason why he took the book. He told himself that it was because it was the quickest way to get out of the classroom, but sometimes he thought maybe it was because he wanted to reach out, somehow. 

He has his own copy now, newer and less beat up than Mrs. DeMarco’s, but unlike her’s there was writing all over it. Pen, pencil, anything he had on hand when he was reading and re-reading it. All of his books were like that. Each of them had notes crammed into the margins and sometimes sticky notes piling out of them in an effort to understand all of the subtle ways the foreshadowing or character moments occurred.

After he’d finished the book and returned it to her after class, she began talking to him about extra credit. Little ways to boost his GPA. Even a few small chores to get his community service requirement for the year. So he came into her classroom for a homeroom period every once in awhile to organize her bookshelf or grade the occasional test. It’s not like they talked except to discuss a book or maybe something that happened in class, but for once in his life Connor had someone he felt understood his problem enough to not try to bring it up.

Alana was great, but he never felt like she’d understand, and Sonya was part of this other world that he’d created for himself, one where for a few hours of his day he didn’t have to think about anything in particular. He couldn’t taint that for himself. 

The point was, English was his best subject. 

Which meant that when he missed it, it set the tone for the day. But also, it was his first period of the day, which meant that it was so,  _ so _ easy to miss. And he considered it, he really did. But Zoe’s car was getting a tire changed, which meant that Cynthia insisted he drive her to school. 

Zoe spent most of the ride texting, which Connor was fine with. She’d tried to change the radio station, though the minute her hand left the dial he’d flipped it back. With an offhand comment he didn’t quite catch and a sulk into the leather seat, she dug earbuds out of her bag and stuffed them into her phone. 

“You know it’s actually pretty easy to not be a dick all the time.” She put one of the white buds into her ear, and Connor could hear the ukulele song playing from his seat. He turned up the radio. Zoe put in the other earbud.

Connor kept his eyes trained on the road but his mind wandered to thoughts of Evan Hansen and how the kid was sort of screwing up his entire life right now. He’d worked very hard to keep dance and school separate as can be. Alana was a fluke, a flaw in the system that he’d never admit that he was happy to have. But besides her, there was a brick wall built in between the two worlds. And then suddenly Evan was there with a pickaxe, ready to start swinging. 

“Can you pull into the Dunkin’ Doughnuts?” Connor was pulled out of his daze as Zoe pointed to the cafe. Connor was about to keep driving when she added, “Please, Connor? I’ll buy you coffee.” Giving her a quick side-eye, he pulled into the small parking lot in front, shifting the car into park and leaning back into his seat. 

“Out in 10 or I’m driving the rest of the way without you.” And he meant it. He’s done it before. Clearly, she remembered too because she scampered out of the car and disappeared behind the door. 

Which left Connor. Connor and his thoughts. Connor and his thoughts that were plagued by Evan Hansen. Which they shouldn’t be, because Evan Hansen was about as consequential as a fruit fly. Connor’s seen him in class. Well, that’s a stronger word than what he needed. Connor knew Evan was in his class. And yet he didn’t actually have any memories from Evan in his class. All he knew was that he was a quiet kid who wore goofy polo shirts and stuttered when he spoke. Nothing about him was powerful or intimidating, so why the hell was Connor suddenly thinking about him so often?

His phone buzzed, and for a moment he thought it was Zoe about to ask something about his coffee order. Instead he saw Alana’s name flash as he turned down the radio a smidge. 

**Lana: Hey! I really hope you don’t mind but I sort of just offered to give Evan Hansen a ride to class tonight for you! Please don’t be mad, he looked really worried!**

**Conner: What**

**Lana: I’ll call, one sec.**

Conner took a breath before throwing his head back against the head-rest and letting out a frustrated noise. Not loud enough to be a scream, but loud nonetheless.

His phone rang twice and he considered declining the call before he picked up.

“You offered for  _ me _ to drive Evan Hansen to class tonight?” He gritted out, “What the fuck kind of person does that, Alana?”

“Stop yelling at me!” She exclaimed through the car’s bluetooth, and there was a moment of complete silence. “Sorry, my parents have been nagging me about being more forward about what I want I didn’t mean to snap at you-”

“It’s fine.” Conner said, shutting his eyes, “But seriously, why the  _ hell _ would you say I could drive him?”

“He’s in my AP Bio class and we both got there early this morning so I was talking to him and I asked if he was going to be coming to class tonight and he said that he wouldn’t be able to because his mom was working a double shift and I felt so bad. I mean, he has one of those faces, the ones where they seem really pitiful but not like in a mean way more like an ‘I want to help him’ way. You know?” Conner did know. But he wasn’t going to admit that.

“So you offered something on my behalf without my consent?”

“I’m sorry! I can hunt him down again if you’re really so opposed-” 

Just then the passenger door swung open, Zoe climbing in with two doughnut boxes and Conner’s coffee. She handed over the cup, and Conner was surprised to find that it was just about perfect by his standards, even if it was iced instead of hot. 

“You remembered by coffee order?” He asked, genuinely surprised.

“You drove me to school like every day of my sophomore year,” That was a lie. Conner had spent at least two months of his junior out of school, either at the hospital or rehab. He let it slide, though, “And you made me get your coffee half the time.” 

“Thanks,” he said after a moment, taking another careful sip.

“I spit in it.” She mumbled as she placed the doughnuts on the floor and did her seatbelt. He shot her a hard glare, to which she replied, “kidding.” 

“You better be,” He shifted gears, “Because I  _ will  _ throw this at you.” 

“And that’s why I got iced.” She quipped, pulling out her phone.

“Zoe?” Alana asked through speaker, and Conner could literally see her perking up in her chair, “What’re you doing there?”

“I told you that my car was getting its tire changed today.”

“You know I could’ve totally done that for you. Or, even better, I could’ve taught you how to! I really think that it’s important for everyone to know how to change their own tire. Remind me to show you sometime!”

“Thanks, Lana” Zoe rolled her eyes affectionately, bending down to open the box on top and pulling out a glazed doughnut. She inspected it for a second before taking a bite out of, and Conner could feel the little flakes of sugar hitting his floor. “By the way, I got the doughnuts for today. Are you still good with the hot chocolate?”

“Absolutely!” Alana’s chipper voice came.

“What’re you doing?” Conner sighed, mostly because he could feel the conversation wouldn’t be moving on for a bit. 

“The school’s first jazz band dance!” Alana proudly stated. “Zoe gave me the idea the other day because she said that there, and I’m quoting, was ‘never any good music at the school dances.’ So I said that she should just play it herself and then I said ‘oh my god you should play it yourself!’ Anyway, I proposed the idea to the rest of the student council and they loved it, so we’re meeting during homeroom with the rest of the jazz band. Zoe and I are planning to ambush both the council and the band with food and drink.”

“Yeah,” Zoe smiled, “then when they’re happy with all of that we’ll give the best proposition ever.”

“Four syllable word, I’m impressed.” Conner said under his breath.

“Fuck off.”

“Guys,” Alana started.

“Fuck you!” Conner responded, talking over Alana. 

“Can’t you just be normal for one. Fucking. Day?” Zoe demanded, crossing her arms like a goddamn five year old. 

“You can walk the rest of the way if you want.” He threatened. 

“Stop fighting!” Alana called, making them both shut up. “Conner, I’ll see you in calc. Zoe, I’ll see you in homeroom.”

“Bye Alana,” Zoe called -still not looking at him- as Conner mumbled a ‘see you’ and hung up. 

The car was silent for about thirty perfect seconds before Zoe broke it again.

“You know she hates that she has to be the mediator any time she talks to both of us at the same time? She’d never say anything but she gets really uncomfortable when we start fighting.”

“Well she’s a big girl who can deal with it.” Conner said as he finally pulled into the school’s parking lot. “Just focus on your own relationship with Alana. Don’t worry about mine with her.”

Zoe just kicked the door open in response, jumping to the ground and picking up her bags and doughnut boxes before slamming the door again. She left like that, not saying a word and not once looking behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going into this I told myself that I could write a million words of just the Murphy kids interacting. I still believe that, but also I probably should've made this chapter longer than just one car ride and a book exchange.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed (also please know that my note at the beginning was completely joking)
> 
> Can't wait to see you back for the next chapter!


End file.
